Quantum Leap
by Almariado
Summary: What if instead of projecting Peter's consciousness into the future when he stepped in the Machine, Walter had come up with another solution to prevent Peter from making the wrong choice? Set in the 'The Day We Died' episode (3x22) and goes AU from there. Spoilers throughout the show.


**Chapter 1 – A Second Chance.**

Peter got up and stood at the edge of the couch where he had been sleeping.

He could see through the living room window that the sun was already up, and by the look of it, it was already mid-morning.

He ran a hand through his face and rubbed his forehead. The heaviness he felt there and his upset stomach were clear signs of the hangover he was experiencing.

He sighed and looked around.

There was no one else in the living room besides himself.

And he knew that the rest of the house was also void of any other living soul.

He was alone, all by himself. It would always be that way from now on.

Because _she_ wouldn't be there.

His Olivia was no more.

It hurt too much to think about it. The void her death had left behind was threatening to swallow him whole. He wanted nothing more but to disappear in the hole that now occupied the place Olivia had once filled.

It was ironic that for someone who from his youth had prided himself on living alone with no attachments to anyone, was now on the edge of the abyss because he was once again all by himself.

How much had his Olivia changed him. She had turned him into a better person. All the best memories of his life were with her.

Everything good that had happened to him, it was thanks to her.

And now she was gone; the best part of his life was gone. It had ended that faithful afternoon when his biological father put a bullet in her skull.

Only to get back at him.

Once again Olivia had suffered because of him.

It seemed that, no matter what, Olivia was always destined to pay the price for his actions or for something related to him.

And it wasn't fair. She was the most kind and compassionate person he had ever met.

She deserved all the happiness the world could give her.

He wished that Walter had never crossed over to save him. He wasn't worth it, because he only brought pain and suffering to the woman he loved.

It would have been better had Walter let him die like the Peter of this side.

It would have spared so many lives in both Universes.

And his Olivia would surely still be alive, happy, with someone else - someone better then him.

Peter glanced at the table to reach for the whiskey bottle, but there was nothing there.

He looked at the floor, then at the nearby cabinet, but there was still no bottle in sight.

It was then that it hit him: Ella had been there earlier.

He couldn't remember if it had been the night before or that same morning.

She had surely taken the bottle away.

He remembered vaguely that she had tried to cheer him up. He had dismissed her a bit too harshly. The poor girl had just lost her aunt, who had been a mother to her for almost half her life. And there he was acting like an ass toward her.

But as remorseful as he felt, he was also in deep pain. The death of Olivia was a wound that was still very raw. It would take time to heal, even if right now it felt like it would never heal.

Thinking about her, especially about the happy moments they had shared, was both comforting and devastating. It was tearing him apart.

 _'You have to move on, we both have to,'_ Ella had said after the funeral. He didn't want to. All he wanted was his Olivia back.

He got up slowly and walked toward the kitchen. He reached the fridge and opened the door quickly. He knew that if he'd look at that picture hanging on the door one more time, it would break him once again.

Peter opened the last drawer of the fridge and took out another whiskey bottle. Might as well drown himself in an alcoholic stupor. Reality was overrated anyway.

Peter walked away back to the living room, bottle in hand. He opened it and, when he was about to take a good gulp from it, a picture standing on the mantelpiece crossed his line of sight.

He lowered the bottle and walked toward the picture.

It was from Ella's graduation day.

The young girl was standing proudly with her diploma in hand, with Peter himself and a smiling Olivia on either side.

He knew how much Ella had missed her parents that day. Still, she had the most gorgeous smile on her face, because her aunt and uncle were there with her.

It was then that a realization hit Peter like a slap in the face. He was the last person left in the world whom Ella could call family.

He owed it to her to get his act back together. He also owed it to Olivia; the least he could do was to be there for her niece.

Peter gently touched Olivia's face in the picture, his fingers running the outline of her cheeks and jaw.

 _'I won't let her down, sweetheart,'_ he silently promised to his dead wife. _'I'll be here whenever Ella needs me.'_

He felt his eyes prickle, but refused to succumb to the sadness that invaded him. He walked away and decided that one glass of whiskey would do, no more.

With his mind set, he took a glass from the liquor cabinet and poured a portion of the golden-brown beverage into it.

He took a sip and slowly paced the living room.

He found himself standing by the living room window. He watched his reflection, noticing he was still wearing the same clothes he had worn at the funeral.

He sighed thinking about it.

But he had to move on like Ella had said. A change of clothes and a shower were in order.

However, his plans were put on hold by a knock on the door. An insistent one.

Peter placed the glass of whiskey on the table and walked toward the entrance of his house. He opened the door and was taken by surprise by what he saw.

Walter was there, holding a sheaf of papers in his hands. Two security guards stood behind the old scientist.

He seemed agitated. "Peter, I was wrong. It's not too late!" Walter's voice carried a certain urgency, even excitement.

Peter moved away to let his father into the house. "What are you talking about, Walter?"

The old scientist quickly walked toward the living room table, putting the papers he was holding on its top.

Peter followed his father, standing by him. He looked at the paper on top of the small pile; it was his depiction with rays coming out of his eyes.

He recognized it immediately. It was the drawing of the cursed Wave Sink Machine, the one the Observer had left for Olivia, a lifetime ago.

"You can save both worlds." Walter spread the papers apart. "We can do it all over again. This time, you - you simply need to make a different choice, and should something go wrong, then Olivia will be our fail-safe."

"Walter... Stop!" Peter interrupted. "Olivia is dead." His voice was thick with emotion, from merely stating that specific fact to his father.

Walter gave him a soft, almost comforting smile. "But she won't be... Not then."

Peter stared at his father, unable to grasp his intentions. He took the larger paper from the table and glanced at it, then threw it aside. Then he picked up another one and flipped it over. It was the schematics of the Wave Sink Machine.

"The machine?" Peter asked. "I turned that on fifteen years ago."

"And all the time I sat in prison, I - I - I couldn't figure out where it came from. I knew the pieces were buried millions of years ago, but how did they get there, so deep in the past?" Walter paused, before answering his own question. "But now I understand. I sent them there."

Peter kept his eyes on Walter, still not quite understanding the relevance of what Walter had discovered.

"The wormhole in Central Park..." Walter continued, "I sent them back through time. Peter, you can stop the destruction before it occurs!"

"If that's the case, just don't send the machine back. Then we'll never discover it, and I'll never destroy the other universe."

"No, no, no." Walter interrupted Peter. "It doesn't work that way. I have already done it. Therefore, I have no choice but to do it again."

"Walter, that doesn't make any sense." Peter's frustration was starting to grow. He lacked the patience and energy to try to decipher Walter's ramblings.

"It does. It's a paradox." Walter insisted "I can't change what happens because it's already happened. But you can make a different choice within what happened."

It was obvious to Peter that Walter would not let go of it. He sighed, trying to clear his head the best he could to try and make some sense of what his father was proposing.

"So you're saying that you cannot change what you supposedly have already done," he said, "which is sending the Machine back in time through the wormhole in Central Park."

"Yes! Precisely!" Walter said both words with barely contained enthusiasm.

"But how do I make a different choice, Walter? You're planning on sending me through the wormhole also?" Peter asked, hiding the sarcasm behind his question with a blank expression on his face.

"Of course not, Peter. That's absurd!" Walter's tone of indignation showed he had totally missed his son's sarcasm.

Peter almost rolled his eyes.

But the old scientist immediately resumed his enthusiastic speech. "Belly and I once theorized that one could travel back in time within his own lifetime… That it could be possible to send a person's consciousness to the past to inhabit the body of his younger self." His voice then lowered, becoming almost a whisper. "I thought about that a lot while I was in prison, if I could go back and undo all the harm that I caused..."

"Walter..." Peter laid his hand on the old scientist shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

It seemed to bring him back immediately from whatever dark thoughts were haunting him. He resumed his enthusiastic speech. "I spoke with Ella and Astrid. Fringe Division now has the means and technology to build a device that would accomplish that."

"What are you saying Walter?" Peter squinted his eyes.

"I'm saying that we can build it! I have the schematics here!" Walter poked his own head with his finger "We can send your consciousness back to the exact moment when you stepped into the Machine..." He grabbed Peter's face with both hands. "And then you will be able make a different choice!"

* * *

The next weeks were spent mainly in the old lab, building the device that would allow Peter's consciousness to travel back in time. Or as Walter had dubbed it, GENE, which stood for Gnomonic Electro-Neuronal Exchanger.

Being in the old lab gave Peter a feeling of comfort from being back in a place with so many happy memories, but also a sense of longing, because the most important person with whom he had shared so many of those happy memories was no longer there.

It also served as a distraction, keeping him focused on something other than thinking about the void left by Olivia's death. He rarely went home, spending most nights sleeping on the couch in Olivia's old office. A cot had also been arranged for Walter, so father and son ended up sharing the same sleeping quarters - oddly reminiscent of their first days in Fringe Division, which Peter actually welcomed.

By the third week everything was set. The Wave Sink Machine had been sent through the Central Park wormhole, and GENE was ready.

Ella, Astrid and even Broyles had come to the lab to witness the success or failure of Walter's plan.

The former FBI Senior Agent, now turned Senator, stood by Peter's side as he readied himself to embark on an uncertain and dangerous journey. They were both in Olivia's old office, leaving Astrid and Ella in the lab with Walter, who was making the final adjustments on GENE.

"Are you sure about this, Peter?" Broyles asked. His usually unreadable mask had been replaced by an expression of genuine apprehension.

Peter gave a slight shrug. "What choice do we have, Phillip? The alternative is to continue to patch holes and wait for the inevitable end. The worst that can happen is that the device Walter came up with won't work at all."

"Or you might end up dead." Broyles raised an eyebrow.

Peter gave another shrug. "We all might end up dead, and maybe sooner then we think." He looked through the window that separated the office from the lab, his eyes settling on Ella. "I want to give her a different future, one where she can think about raising a family with someone she loves without being afraid that the world might end the next day."

Peter turned to the former FBI Agent. "I have to try, Phillip, even if it kills me."

Broyles gave a slight nod. "I honestly hope you succeed."

"Peter," called Astrid, as she poked her head through the door of the office. "Walter says he's ready."

The younger Bishop nodded. "Okay, let's do this."

They walked out of the office toward the lab.

A chair stood in the middle of the space. It was one of the medical examination chairs they had used before on so many other occasions, like the time they had entered Olivia's mind to rescue her from Bell's ghost.

Peter sat, and Walter placed a contraption on his head. It resembled the one they had used on the child observer so many years before. It was connected by a series of wires to a console with multiple monitors arrayed on Walter's workbench.

"Raise your head, son," Walter asked. Peter complied and lifted his head so Walter could have access to the back of his neck.

"I need to attach the neurological helmet's interface to the base of your skull," the old scientist explained. "You're going to feel a little sting." And with that he punctured Peter's flesh, inserting the interface as he had warned.

"Ouch!" Peter complained. "You need to redefine 'a little sting,' Walter."

"Don't be such a baby, Peter," Walter admonished. "This is almost a replica of the same interface I used on Olivia when she dived in the tank, and she never said a word."

Peter swallowed hard at the mention of his late wife. He remained silent. He knew Walter had meant well, but it hurt thinking about Olivia.

The old scientist must have sensed his son's discomfort, because he immediately stopped what he was doing. "I'm sorry, son. I… I shouldn't have said that."

Peter raised a hand and squeezed his father's shoulder. "It's okay, Walter." He gave him the best smile he could muster. "She was always the strongest one."

Walter's lip trembled. "She was… indeed she was." He squeezed back on Peter's hand, returning the smile his son was giving him. He then resumed adjusting the contraption he had placed on Peter's head.

"Uncle Peter." Ella grabbed Peter's hand. "Are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure." He gave her a gentle squeeze. "Besides, what can go wrong? Worst case scenario, my brains will be fried by this contraption."

"That's not funny, Uncle Peter."

He gave a small chuckle. "Relax, Ella. Nothing bad is going to happen. We did much crazier stuff back in the old days, and everything went fine."

"You don't know the half of it," Astrid snorted, looking at Ella. "And your aunt was always ready to go along with whatever crazy idea Walter would come up with."

"I used to think about those days when I was in prison." Walter walked towards one of the benches, picking up a syringe from a tray. "I know this may sound selfish of me, but I miss those days. Investigating the Pattern, the shapeshifters..." He returned to Peter's side, walking slowly. "You only realise what you had after you lose it."

Peter reached for the old scientist's free hand and grabbed it, an effort to comfort his father. It seemed to have an effect on Walter, as he gave back a smile to Peter.

"Now," the older Bishop said as he let go of his son's hand, "I'm going to give you something to help your brain interact with GENE."

"Gene?" Astrid raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, that's what he calls this." Peter pointed at the device covering his head.

"And that also." Walter pointed at the console in his workbench. "GENE has a very sophisticated neuro-electronic device that will help us achieve our goal!" He waved the syringe in front of Peter's eyes.

"Woow! Careful with that Walter!" Peter recoiled from the needle that passed inches in front of his eyes.

"Oh! Sorry, son." He moved the offending object away from Peter. "Asteroid, could you be a dear and prepare Peter's right arm so I can give him this shot?"

Astrid sighed and shook her head. "Sure, I'll take care of it." The Fringe Agent took a portion of cotton from a nearby bench and steeped it in alcohol. Then she raised Peter's right sleeve and rubbed the cotton on his arm.

"Thank you," Walter said, moving next to Peter. He inserted the syringe's needle in his right arm and pushed the plunger, making its content mix with his son's blood stream.

"You will feel relaxed in a few seconds." Walter removed the needle. He then walked toward the console. "I'm going to initiate the procedure, son. You should start to feel a sense of weightlessness, an out-of-body experience of sorts. When you regain control of your body, you will have arrived at the exact moment when you stepped into the Wave Sink Machine"

Peter gave a single nod, beginning to feel the effect of the drug Walter had given him.

"If we're successful," Walter added, "you will be the only one who will remember any of this."

Peter took in the meaning of his father's words and what it implied. They could be about to change their reality. Whatever would replace it, remained to be seen. But whatever it was, it would certainly be better than their current situation.

"Good luck, Peter." Broyles gave a gentle pat on Peter's shoulder.

"Thanks," Peter said with some difficulty, all of his body starting to become numb.

"Good bye, Uncle Peter," Ella sniffed, swiping a finger below her right eye to prevent a tear from falling.

He gave her a sad smile, wishing he could say something reassuring to his beloved niece.

Then he sensed more than felt Astrid's hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Here we go." Walter pressed a few buttons on the console.

"I love you, son" was the last thing Peter heard.

* * *

Peter stopped feeling his body. It was as if he had no body. Or if he had, he just couldn't sense it.

His surroundings blurred, the lab vanished.

His senses were jumbled and mixed. Was he hearing images? How was that possible?

He could see the smell of bacon in front of him. It didn't make any sense.

The confusion lasted for an undetermined period of time. He wasn't sure if minutes had passed, or maybe days or months.

He tasted the sound of music. A familiar comforting feeling invaded him as the sound of the song being played invaded his taste buds. He recognized it, but he couldn't remember its name.

It was then followed by a familiar image. It sounded like Olivia leaning in on a piano.

 _'Someone to watch over me.'_ Peter remembered the name of the song he was tasting. It was the first song he had played for her, so long ago.

But even with his senses in a synesthetic mess, it felt so clear and comforting. It was as if he was living the memory all over again. He wanted to stay there for as long as he could, because his Olivia was there.

Again, he had no idea how long the memory lasted, if it was a memory at all. Had only minutes passed since Walter had turn GENE on? It felt both so long ago and also just seconds before.

He felt like he was being pulled, but whether it was up or down or left or right he had no idea. Or maybe he was still and everything around him was moving.

Peter stopped abruptly and almost toppled forward. He had to make an effort not to fall from the flight of curved stairs that had appeared in front of him. He managed with some effort to hold on to the banister, preventing him from taking a tumble.

It was then that he realized that he was sensing his body again.

Also, his senses were back and working as they should.

Apparently it had worked.

He looked at his hands and moved his fingers. He noticed he was wearing a jacket.

He took a look around. The stairway led into a big room, more precisely a hall, with people walking from one side to the other. Some carried luggage, others were just strolling leisurely.

And it was hot.

 _'Where the hell am I?'_ Peter thought to himself. _'This is not Liberty Island. There's no Wave Sync Machine here. Something went wrong!'_

He descended the rest of the stairs. There was something about the whole place that was strangely familiar.

"Peter Bishop?" Someone called from beside him.

His heart almost stopped beating when he heard _that_ voice calling him.

He turned to his right, already knowing who it was.

There she was, dressed in army fatigues and with a nasty bruise on the right side of her forehead, a much younger version of the woman with whom he had shared his life for the past fifteen years.

"Olivia Dunham. I'm with the FBI," she introduced herself, offering Peter her hand.

And just like that, he realised where and _when_ he was.

* * *

 **A/N This was an idea that refused to leave my brain until I put it in writing. It came to me a few months ago and this is the result.  
To be honest, I'm still not sure where this will go, but I have some ideas.  
A big thanks goes to ****fringelawyer, he was the one responsible for correcting, editing and polish this little piece so it would turn into something worthy of being published. Thanks man, you rock!**


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